


Day 1: Knifeplay

by Anduriel



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Knifeplay, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduriel/pseuds/Anduriel
Summary: It caught Jaskier’s attention every time: the small hunting knife Geralt used after nearly every hunt.Jaskier gently leads Geralt into a new kink he's been thinking about a for a while.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958125
Comments: 10
Kudos: 138





	Day 1: Knifeplay

**Author's Note:**

> That's right friends, Kinktober is here! I am very excited to be attempting it again. We'll see how far I get this year lol 
> 
> I've got a twofer for you all to start with, and will be pumping out as many fics as I can through October and probably into November. I've got... 20ish planned? All in the Witcher fandom. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always let me know if you'd like anything specific tagged.

It caught Jaskier’s attention every time: the small hunting knife Geralt used after nearly every hunt. Jaskier always liked to watch him wield it. The cute way he flipped it around to grasp in a reverse grip. The less cute but certainly still sexy way he thrust the knife down into the neck of whatever beast he’d slain. And then the expert way he removed the head to create the oh so important trophy for proof of services rendered. Jaskier certainly wasn’t a stranger to weird boners, but watching Geralt wield that inconspicuous little knife had been a new one.

At the start, Jaskier chalked it up to the fact that _everything_ Geralt did was sexy. Even when he was covered in guts and other viscera, even when he was grumpy or downright mean, he was unfairly hot while doing anything and everything.

But as they finally breached into a physical relationship over the years, meeting up across the continent to travel together and fuck each other’s brains out for several weeks at a time, Jaskier’s eyes continued to wander to that little knife. Sometimes belted at his waist, and sometimes attached to a chest holster.

That’s how it was attached now, as Jaskier and Geralt sat by their campfire like they had a thousand times before. Jaskier had been babbling about something, even he didn’t remember what now, as his flighty attention alighted on that knife.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?” The bard tore his gaze away to meet Geralt’s amused golden eyes.

“As much as I appreciate the rare quiet,” he teased, “that’s the third time you’ve trailed off staring at my chest.”

Jaskier chuckled, “Oh my dear, am I not allowed to admire your lovely cushioned pectoral muscles?”

“Are you saying I have nice tits?” Geralt deadpanned, poking at the fire.

“Would it make you mad if I were?”

Geralt huffed a breath through his nose – his closet equivalent to a laugh, he was truly in an agreeable mood – and continued with his earlier line of questioning, “I was under the impression you could admire me and continue to spout endless chatter with the ease you play and sing at the same time.”

Jaskier continued to grin, chewing on his bottom lip. At his continued quiet, Geralt glanced at him again, arching a brow. Jaskier’s grin turned devious as he leaned a bit forward on the log he was planted on. “How long have you had your knife?”

Geralt, whose eyes had strayed lower towards the gap in Jaskier’s doublet, jumped back up. “I had these ones made about a year ago. Long-lived as swords go.”

“No, not your swords, your knife.” Jaskier pointed to it. “That littler one.”

Geralt blinked, glancing down at it, then back up at Jaskier with a shrug. “I don’t know, it’s a basic hunting knife. I’ve had it for a while.”

“You handle it just as well as your big swords,” Jaskier continued, keeping up the teasing, flirting lilt in his voice. He could see Geralt trying to figure out what the angle was, saw him trying to work it over in his cute head. Jaskier slid a bit closer, reaching up to pop open another button of his doublet, showing more of the dark chest hair he knew Geralt loved so much. “You know you flip it around the exact same way every time you slice off a monster's head?”

Geralt, who had been leaning in toward Jaskier's approach like Jaskier had his own gravity, frowned with confusion. “Do you… do you want me to do something with the knife?”

Jaskier loved this version of Geralt, the one where all the blood vacated his usually keen brain to travel to more urgent organs, leaving him adorably dumb and horny. Unwilling to give up the game quite yet, Jaskier played with the next buttons on his doublet. It was an old one, several times repaired now, and while he’d hoped to get another year out of it, it would make a worthy sacrifice for this. “Geralt, tell me how many times you’ve ripped open my clothes to get at me,” he purred, letting his bottom lip pout in a most attractive way. 

Geralt glared suspiciously at him, but continued to slide closer, the leather of his – obscenely well-tailored – trousers scraping over the soft bark. “Are you trying to get at something?”

“When am I not?” Jaskier countered, giving Geralt a wink.

The witcher huffed another of those all-breath laughs of his, sliding close enough that they were separated by a mere inch, yet it felt like an ocean to Jaskier. Any amount of space that kept them from touching was too much in Jaskier’s opinion. He bit his lip, let it slide out from between his teeth, knowing how nice it looked reddened. “Wouldn’t it be easier to use that little knife to cut me out of these constricting clothes?”

Geralt seemed cautious but onboard still. Jaskier could see sense and lust battling it out in his mind, could practically hear the gears turning. For a man who spent so much time around blades had he truly never considered the kinky connotations one could have with them? Perhaps not.

Regardless, he lifted his hand to the knife at his chest, slowly pulling it out. Jaskier’s mouth watered instantly, his eyes stuck on the dull gray of the blade, the worn wooden handle, darkened from so many years of beast blood and the grip of Geralt’s leather glove.

“This is getting you? Really?” Geralt asked incredulously. Jaskier gave a vigorous little nod, to which Geralt just shook his head, a helpless look in his eyes. “You are a strange one, Jaskier.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the bard replied. He reclined back on the log so he could throw one leg over it, straddling the wide trunk. Leaning back on his palms, the pose spread his doublet, revealing his silk chemise and pulling the buttons to their limits. “Now, witcher, I know you’d love to do some damage on my, how have you put it, _garish_ fashion sense. So…” he puffed his chest further and spread his legs, the fabric of his trousers bunching to perfectly frame his obvious interest. “Do your worst.”

Geralt surged forward, the knife disappearing as he pointed it safely away to capture Jaskier’s chin in his free hand and crush their lips together. Jaskier opened immediately, delighting in how Geralt crowded into his space, pushing him back until Jaskier’s arms buckled and he found himself lying flat on his back on the log.

Geralt released him, crouching over him, his white hair and black armor contrasting in the firelight like some sexy piebald panther – ooh, fun alliteration, he’d have to remember that – and brough the knife back around. He placed the dull edge lightly against Jaskier’s neck, trailing it down toward the V in his doublet, and Jaskier’s breath caught.

Geralt froze, pausing the moment. He quirked a quick eyebrow at Jaskier, wordlessly asking, _Is this alright?_ Jaskier took a moment to pride himself on how good at reading Geralt he was before he quickly nodded, giving him a cheesy grin to emphasize the point.

Geralt shook his head yet again as if to say, _Can’t believe this bard._ Or perhaps, _What a sexy, fun, kinky idea, Jaskier, you’re so smart and hot._

His thoughts cut off when the knife dipped down, Geralt hooking it easily under one of the silk-covered buttons. He tugged, slow, watching Jaskier’s reaction until the button came loose with a soft _pop._

“That’s it,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt watched him intently as he slowly looped the blade under the next button, cutting through the threads holding it on with painful slowness. “Is it the danger of it?” he asked, voice rumbling so low it Jaskier could feel it in his chest.

“It’s you,” Jaskier said back, his breath already short, but he tried not to gasp, tried not to make his chest puff up and risk any injury. “You’re so capable. So very precise. Those hands, _unf_ , they can do so many things. So talented that you can make even a weapon feel gentle and intimate.”

Geralt listened to him babble, cutting the next three buttons as he did. He seemed to consider the words for a moment, the knife drifting down, and Jaskier nearly choked on his own tongue when the flat of the blade brushed over his groin as Geralt cut through the last button.

The doublet flopped open, revealing Jaskier’s white chemise tucked into his high-waisted trousers. Geralt looked him up and down like he was a buffet, and Jaskier preened at the attention, stretching himself out on the log, making himself look as ravishing as possible.

When their eyes met again, Geralt arched that delicious brow of his. “Shall I continue?”

“Absolutely, my dear,” the words burst out with naked enthusiasm.

Geralt nodded ever so slightly, then brought the knife down to the button at Jaskier’s trousers. He wiggled the blade underneath it, and Jaskier withheld a moan until – _pop –_ the button flew off and Jaskier let out a breathy groan.

Geralt eyed him as he switched the blade to his other hand and brought the newly free one up toward his mouth. “Intimate?” he said, barely a question in his flat monotone, but Jaskier heard it nonetheless.

“Yes, intimate and thrilling and skillful and – _oh gods, fuck_.” Geralt snatched the fingers of his leather glove between his bright white canines and slowly pulled it off, revealing his pale hand. He grinned at Jaskier’s ineloquent statement, switching the knife once more and pulling the other glove off in the same manner.

Jaskier whined, his hips pushing up into the air, erection near painful and tenting his trousers spectacularly.

“Some would think I don’t keep you well fucked with how desperate you look right now, Jaskier,” Geralt purred, injecting a bit more growl to his already gravelly voice that _did things_ to Jaskier.

“Fuck, please use that knife to cut my shirt and pants away before I have heart attack.”

Geralt grinned, tossing the gloves to the ground at their side, his eyes never leaving Jaskier. He traced the knife down the groin of Jaskier’s brocade trousers. And maybe Jaskier hadn’t originally wanted to ruin the trousers along with the doublet, but now he didn’t really care if he had to travel to the next town buck naked if it kept Geralt’s heated gaze on him like this.

Now that his gloves were off, Jaskier could see the tendons in the back of Geralt’s hand flexing with each precise movement. He wanted to lick them, wanted to feel that hand flexing against his tongue or in his ass. As Jaskier’s thoughts whirled through a dervish of fantasies, Geralt slid the knife under the trouser fly, then slowly tugged downwards.

The knife cut through the silk with little more resistance than a knife through butter, the fabric giving way to the honed edge, which of course Geralt kept just as sharp as his other swords and, oh, hell, maybe this was a bit dangerous but Jaskier couldn’t bother to really care at that moment. Not when Geralt gripped the fabric over Jaskier’s cock, pulling it taught so he could slice it sideways, thoroughly ruining the trousers as he opened a large flap in the front.

“ _Shit,_ ” Jaskier wheezed, the cool night air sinking into the cotton fabric of his underclothes, the thin layer doing nothing to make him feel concealed one bit.

Geralt eyed him for a while as Jaskier tried to catch his breath, feeling dizzy from the heady weight of Geralt’s attention. It wasn’t until Jaskier felt the ice cold chill of metal right on top of his dick that he squeaked, gaze jumping back down to where he saw Geralt was holding the flat of the blade against his shaft, the cold sinking in through the cotton.

Geralt gave him a lecherous smile that would haunt Jaskier’s wet dreams for years to come. “I think I’m starting to understand the appeal,” he murmured, slowly rubbing the flat in a small circle over Jaskier’s hard shaft.

Jaskier gave another emphatic, “ _Shit_ ,” to which Geralt replied with a light tap from the blade, making Jaskier’s whole body jump in response.

“Careful now,” Geralt rumbled, giving him one more pap with the blade before he gripped the bottom of Jaskier’s chemise.

One long, smooth cut upward was all it took for the chemise to fall away like a fainting maiden. Jaskier let out an embarrassingly loud moan. Well, embarrassing for anyone with even an ounce of shame, which Jaskier did not have. He felt wonderfully exposed, at Geralt’s mercy, and there was no one else in the world he’d rather be at the mercy of.

Geralt brought the flat of the blade to Jaskier’s chest now, circling the cold metal over one of his nipples, making the bard whine and struggle not to squirm. “ _Geralt…_ ” he sighed, then watched with glee as Geralt bit his lip in response, eyes fluttering closed for a second, the knife pausing its delicate work.

Gathering his composure back, Geralt moved the knife to Jaskier’s other nipple, working that one to pebbled hardness. “My name looks good on your lips,” he rumbled.

Jaskier whimpered, his hips swiveling and thrusting as he struggled to keep his upper body still. The challenge of it was maddening and intoxicating. “Geralt, _Geralt_ ,” he moaned, encouraged. “Please, Geralt, _ohh-fu—!_ ” His whining reached a peak as Geralt moved the blade back down toward Jaskier’s nether regions.

The witcher planted his broad free hand on Jaskier’s stomach, holding him down tight, pinning him to the log. Forced to stillness, Jaskier continued to whine, his hands coming up to clasp onto the wrist of the hand Geralt had pinning him. Jaskier watched as the knife slid beneath his underclothes, the point of it ever so softly grazing the skin of his thigh, so light it felt little more dangerous than a fingernail.

Geralt tugged upwards, not enough pressure to cut the fabric yet, but adding an additional tent to it. “Fuck, yes _yes, please,_ ” Jaskier babbled, his heart racing, pulse thudding in his ears with how close that sharp blade was to his most sensitive skin.

Geralt watched him as he played with the fabric, drawing out the moment. When he began to pull in earnest, Jaskier moaned at the sensation of his underclothes pulling tight across his ass and between his legs, tighter and tighter, until with a soft tearing sound the fabric finally gave in to Geralt’s knife.

Completely exposed, Jaskier panted and writhed, whining nonsensically, begging for something he couldn’t even name.

Geralt watched him, seemingly unfazed, but Jaskier could see how eager he was, how tight the iron grip he had on his lust had gotten. “What do you want, Jaskier?” he asked, voice soft.

“You, your hands, your mouth, your—oh my _fuck, Geralt!_ ”

Geralt almost laughed, nearly ruining the moment, but managed to keep his reaction to a feral curl of his mouth as he brought the knife up and licked across one flat side of it. Jaskier felt spellbound by the way Geralt’s bright pink tongue dragged over the gray metal. Geralt’s lips, deceptively plush, open and slightly damp. He went slow, putting on a show, and Jaskier was his most adoring fan, whining and moaning and thrusting his hips impatiently against Geralt’s immovable hand on his stomach.

When Geralt touched him with the blade again, Jaskier nearly howled with how good it felt. The slick metal was slightly warm from Geralt’s tongue, and slid over his heated skin with a ludicrous level of pleasure. 

“ _Geralt!_ ” Jaskier moaned, over and over, saying the name like a mantra as the blade slid up his shaft, the blunt edge catching under the glans and causing Jaskier to shudder, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself still.

Geralt lifted the knife away and Jaskier’s body immediately writhed again, his hips thrusting up, wordless pleas leaving his mouth.

Geralt shushed him, bringing the blade toward Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier didn’t need any prompting to stick out his own tongue and let Geralt drag the knife slowly down it, coating it again in saliva. Jaskier’s eyes rolled as he caught just the barest taste of Geralt over the heavy metallic taste.

“I need you to stay perfectly still for this next part,” Geralt rumbled, still dragging the blade down Jaskier’s tongue over and over, never sliding it toward the sharp edge, only away. Jaskier looked up at him, his cock dribbling precum on to his lower stomach, hands still clenched around Geralt’s wrist.

When Geralt took the blade back again, Jaskier nodded feverishly. “Yes, yes, perfectly still. Anything, I’ll do anything for you— _mmn_ …” Geralt shushed him with a brief but filthy kiss, licking into Jaskier’s mouth in a possessive, dominant drag that left Jaskier breathless and scrambled his thoughts in an instant.

Geralt released his mouth, and this time grabbed Jaskier’s cock at the base, not stroking, just holding, leaning his weight down on Jaskier’s pelvis. His golden eyes flicked up, seeking one more confirmation, which Jaskier readily gave with a drunken nod. He then oh so carefully dragged the flat of the knife lightly over Jaskier’s balls.

The bard cried out before biting his lip nearly hard enough to break skin. His nails scraped at Geralt’s wrist in his effort to keep still. He wanted to thrust up into Geralt’s fist, felt he could come at any second if he could only get just a little more stimulation but he _couldn’t_.

Geralt’s mouth curled back up into that devilish grin as he deftly moved the knife underneath Jaskier’s compact little ballsack, scooping up the taught, fleshy globes and weighing them on the edge of the blade like one might weigh a hit of fisstech.

“ _Ffffffuck!_ ” Jaskier gasped, feeling the cold slick of it press up against his skin, felt the weight of his balls drape over the edge. He felt like he was going to burst any second, unable to put his frantic energy into any part of his body for fear of slicing himself. He knew Geralt wouldn’t let it happen, knew he was watching intently, would pull the blade away with reflexes so fast Jaskier wouldn’t have even realized he was in danger, but it still thrilled him, sent lightening down his bloodstream to imagine his flesh so close to peril, held only in the grasp of his witcher.

“Do you want to come with my knife against your balls?” Geralt growled, and Jaskier nearly sobbed.

“Geralt, please, _please,_ ” he begged, voice whispering out, nervous of even talking too loudly.

“Going to come with my knife held to your skin?” Geralt continued and _fuck_ his voice was sex itself.

“Yes yes _yes, please!_ ” Jaskier shouted, feeling his muscles start to tremble and bunch as his balls pulled in tighter, his cock twitched—

The knife disappeared as Geralt ducked his head down and captured the head of Jaskier’s cock in his mouth. He sucked _hard_ and Jaskier came an instant later with a strangled cry. Released, his body bucked wildly, thrusting up into the warm relief of Geralt’s mouth. If he could scrabble up a coherent thought, Jaskier might have felt a little bad as he shoved his cock hard against the back of Geralt’s throat. Geralt didn’t seem to mind, though, swallowing down every drop of Jaskier’s cum as it flooded out of him for what felt like ages, eyes gazing like molten pools of gold as Jaskier lost himself to the pleasure.

When Jaskier finally came back down, Geralt gave his twitching cock one last loving suck before pulling off. He grinned, wiping his mouth before laying himself across Jaskier. The bard felt boneless, his limbs hanging limply around the trunk of the tree, little shivery aftershocks still zipping up and down his spine.

“You,” Jaskier rasped before clearing his throat and swallowing thickly. “You are a treasure, my dear witcher.”

Geralt gave him an amused eyebrow raise, eyes twinkling. “As good as you imagined it?”

“So unquestionably, unbelievably, inconceivably better,” he sighed, snuggling up to the mass of leather and muscle and sexiness that was his boyfriend. “Gimme five minutes, love, and I’ll take care of you.”

“You’re not cutting my clothes off,” Geralt grunted.

“Awww, no?” Jaskier whined in fake disappointment. “You won’t join me in naked solidarity until we reach the next town?”

“You… you do have a change of clothes, don’t you?”

“Of course! Probably. Most likely. I think.”

“I’m leaving you in this forest.”

“Nooo!”

Geralt kissed him through his giggles and Jaskier could feel the smile fighting its way onto Geralt’s face despite the witcher’s best efforts.

**Author's Note:**

> https://introvertedlionprince.tumblr.com/


End file.
